I'd Like to Thank the Academy
by LordGrimwing
Summary: Many years have passed since Prowl last saw his best friend Red Alert. The black and white youngling has grown into a fine young mech, and has finally been accepted into the Iaconian Enforcer Academy. Not only is Prowl eager to become an enforcer, he's eager to show other Iaconians that having door wings and a chevron doesn't make him different from them. Sequel to TSTHY
1. Chapter 1

"Just look at you." Rainbow sniffed, straightening some escue plating on Prowl's shoulders. "All grown up and moving on in life-" She interrupted herself to wipe covertly at her optics, hands trembling.

Prowl reach out, gently grasping her shoulders. "Carrier." He chided kindly. "It's not like I'm moving to a new city. The academy's in the center of Iacon-just two hours away-and I've promised to come home during breaks."

"I know." Rainbow sighed, hugging her youngest creation. "Your sisters and brother didn't leave so young."

"Mother," Prowl tilted her chin up to look at him. "I've legally been an adult for quite some time and my application was accepted. I really need to start building my own life."

Rainbow straightened up. Putting on a brave face, she patted his helm and stepped back, looking him over for anything out of place. "If only Rainshower could see you now. He'd be so pleased with you Prowl. Now, no reason to drag this out, so you just head on off to that accademy of your's and show them all what you can do."

They hugged one last time, then Prowl transformed and drove into the main street.

As he passed by the buildings he'd grown up around, Prowl couldn't help taking a trip down memory lane.

Over to his right was the alley his father first showed him how to transform in. It's graffitied walls and hole studded ground the same now as it had been so many years ago. There was the under cared for park where he and his sisters-his only brother had moved out before Prowl could really remember him-used to try catching the robopigeons. Those adventures almost always ended with one of them falling into the shallow pond or tripping and landing face-first in one of the prickly bushes.

Then there was that convenience store on the corner where Rainbow had taken him to after a ruff day at school and explained to him why it was that so many of the other students teased him and made fun of his chevron and door wings. That was the first day he'd really started to understand what it meant to be of Praxian heritage in Iacon. Prowl considered it a turning point in his life. Although he'd only been twelve, he'd started to realize just how loud his actions spoke of the city of Praxis-even though he'd never even been there-to the Iaconians. Perhaps that was why he'd wanted to be an enforcer. He wanted others to see that having door wings didn't make him any different than any other mech.

The neighborhood he grew up in slowly fell away as Prowl merged with a main road.

Up ahead was the school he'd attended since his family moved to this part of the city. He could see the main entrance was bolted shut, rust slowly eating away at the gate's hinges. Despite this, the complex still functioned as a school. The grounds around the main building were barer now, the walls covered in cheaper paint, the windows barred over. Looking back, he'd gone through a lot at that school: not much of it good.

The schooling complex passed away as Prowl entered a nicer part of the district.

On a sudden impulses, he signaled and left the main road for a side street. It took him a while to find what he was looking for: he hadn't spent much time up here since he was little and there'd been more than a little construction done in the area since then. The white and black mech was just about ready to give his search up as a hopeless endeavor when he found himself driving by the very house he was looking for. Prowl pulled to the side of the street, transformed and stepped over on the the walkway running around the block.

The home he stood before looked little like it did when Prowl had seen it as a child. Although the lawn was still carefully trimmed, it was now dotted with evidence of younglings: colored blocks lay in a pile in front of the gate, a ball was resting under a small bush, and a miniature dollhouse was set up near the porch. The walls had recently been painted over with a coating of blue to cover the exterior he remembered as being grey. It was obvious that the family living here now was not the one Prowl remembered.

Though he'd been young, not even in the double digits yet, Prowl could still recall how confused he'd been when he'd asked his parents if he could invite his close-and probably only-friend Red Alert to play at their house after school, only to get a sad look from his carrier and his father telling him to walk with him. As a mechling, he didn't get why Red Alert was gone, he hadn't seen what was happening.

"Sir?"

Prowl hadn't realized he'd zoned out. "What?"

A light blue femme stepped of the porch, strolling down the walk toward the door winged mech. "Can I help you? Are you looking for an address?" She leaned against the gate.

He wasn't really sure how to respond. "Ah, no."

The femme cast a scrutinizing optic over the mech. "You're lost aren't you. There's been a lot of construction 'round here lately and new families moving in. Just tell me where you need to go and I'll point you in the right direction." Her tone was no less friendly than when she'd first spoken, though Prowl couldn't help but sense she wanted him gone.

"I was just remembering someone who used to live here." Prowl took a step back. He really ought to be getting back on the road and going toward the academy.

"Oh. You related to that Praxian who lived here? Firestone or something like that?"

"No. I, ah, knew his son." Prowl continued stepping back.

"I didn't know that mech had a child." Her voice said she didn't think he should.

"He did." Prowl stepped back onto the road. "Good day." He transformed and sped off.

Prowl didn't change formes again until he reached the enforcer academy in the center of Iacon. He marched up the stairs and straight into the new cadet orientation assembly, finding a seat at the end of a row next to a tall, visored, mech. The meeting was mandatory for all the mechs, and some femmes, whose applications had been accepted, and afterward, they would all be assigned berths in the barracks then sent off for the night to get settled. Tomorrow, classes and training started at dawn. The presenters made it very clear that everyone seated in the room were about to go through five months of the pit. Anyone who wanted out had to leave now. At this, Prowl looked around, noting that a few mechs did indeed depart from the room.

He turned back to the mech on the stand before the cadets. He'd just agreed to go through the worst five months of his whole life. Prowl looked forward to every moment of it.


	2. Chapter 2

"Move, move, move!" Highbrow yelled down at the mechs crawling through the maze of chain and muck. Since Iaconian enforcers served both as officers of the law and reserves in the state's army, and as Drill Sergeant for Cadet Unit Mue, it was his job to push the wanta-be enforcers down as far as possible before letting them crawl back up to the level of a normal Cybertronian.

"You're not here to play in the mud, glitch!" He got down and shouted at the-formerly-black and white mech who was struggling slightly to get his sensory wings through the half submerged tare in the chain-link wall. "Get it in gear!" Highbrow stepped back, avoiding the splashes of gunk as the Praxian finally twisted his wings through the hole. "Keep it moving!" He yelled at the cadet's back before moving on to berating his next victim.

"I swear, these mechs are just trying to kill us."

Prowl looked up from the stack of regulation files he'd borrowed from the hall of records. One the berth to his left was the tall, visored mech he'd sat by on the very first day. His orange and brown paint job coated in scratches from when he'd slipped from nearly the top of one of the fences their drill sergeant had them climb, landing right in the middle of the slightly barbed mesh that covered the tops of pot holes. Prowl'd almost felt sorry for the other mech as he struggled to hoist himself out of the pit. Then Highbrow started yelling at them to 'get their gunk in gear' and he had to leave the stuck mech behind.

"You think Highbrow's bad?" The femme across the aisle snorted. "He's a walk in the garden compared to Greenlight! I swear she drives the femmes in our unit ten times as hard as she does the mechs." The purple and orange cadet-it'd been almost two months since training started and Prowl still had yet to learn her name-was one of the few femmes to last this long.

"I think that's a matter of opinion." The mech responded.

"Hey!" The femme stood up, marching across the walkway to the mech on Prowl's left. "I didn't know you're a misogynist. But you are a mech after all." She said right in his face. Prowl could almost see her reflection in the other's visor.

The mech bristled, but before he could make a comeback, Prowl was pushing the two apart, flaring his sensory wings, standing firmly between them. "Just relax you two." He kept his voice calm, something he'd become very good at since coming here. "We've all had a rough day. Let's just forget this happened and go back to enjoying the time before lights out."

With a huff, the femme stepped back. "I never thought I see the day when a Praxian was less a misogynist then one of my fellow Iaconians. What is the world coming to?" However, she left it at that and returned to her berth. Grumbling, the tall mech went back to just lying on his berth, slowly picking the paint off from around some of the deeper scratches.

Prowl went back to his reading, wings relaxed, not letting it show that what the femme said had hurt him. He'd been trying so hard to show the being of Praxian heritage didn't make him any worse than the next mech; it still didn't seem like he was making any headway: he still get criticized by the other cadets-it was just like when he'd been a mechling at school but this time he didn't have an older best friend who could come to his aid-and the drill sergeant and other instructors still took every chance they had to remind him of every little 'transgression' that a Praxian ever made in Iacon, and even some that they only knew about by way of mouth from others who'd been to the secluded city.

Although it was the academy's goal to draw every one of its cadets through the pit two or three times, they did let the mechs and femmes have a few break days, which tended to fall one Iaconian holidays. In the four months since Prowl had left home, he'd gotten the chance to visit his mother all of three times, his sisters twice and his brother once. This had all been accomplished in the three days off he'd received so far.

Each time he returned home, Rainbow would pat him on the arm and ask if he was getting enough to eat. No matter how he answered, the winged femme would insist on making a whole batch of energon taffy and then share it between just the two of them. Prowl know that creators weren't supposed to pick favorites, but he couldn't help but note that his carrier never did this with any of her other children. He didn't mind, really. It was just one of the benefits of being the youngest.

Thus it was, that Prowl found in himself mixing elements from Raindow's additive cupboard while his mother melted a block of energon. They kept up a stream of chitchat while working. The older Praxian would ask about some obscure little detail Prowl had added in one of his letters to her, then he'd ask about some tiny difference he noticed in the house. It was a conversation that Rainbow would say only someone of Praxian heritage could understand.

With the treat finished and cooled, carrier and creation sat down at the scared old table to enjoy the fruits of their labors. The conversation slowed until it was silent, other than the sound of tacky energon being chewed. The silence was unusual, leaving Prowl unsure of how to break it. Finally, his mother looked up and did it for him.

"Do you remember Red Alert?"

The question caught him off guard and it took a moment for Prowl to reply. "Mom! He was my best friend for years. How could I not remember him?" His wings flicked upward with his surprise.

"Well, it's just that it was so long ago and I never hear you talk about him anymore." The elderly green and gold femme looked down, slowly drawing a message pad out from her subspace. "I don't know if you'd want any of the memories brought back up."

Prowl paid no mind to the message pad, to confused by his carrier's words. "Carrier," he leaned across the table to lay a servo over her's. "I was too young to really see what was happening to him. I don't think I've got any memories with him that would be terrible to bring back up."

"You were such an innocent youngling." Rainbow's optics misted over as she thought about the sweet child her youngest creation had been. She came back to reality when Prowl patted her servo and leaned back in his chair. "I didn't bring him up without reason you know." She said as though nothing had happened. She pushed the pad across the table toward Prowl.

"What it this?" He asked, picking up the pad and flicking it on.

"A letter from Red Alert."

Prowl's jaw dropped. He hadn't heard anything from his younglinghood friend since the court had removed him from his sire's custody.

 _To: Prowl._

 _~ ~ received three days ago_

 _I don't even know why I'm writing this. I haven't slagging seen you in fragging years, but the glitch of a psych mech my foster parents-frell I hate calling them that-keep sending me to insists that I do. I don't even fracking know why they insist on sending me to him every week, all the other fragging fosters just shipped me back to the state by now._

 _It's stupid, but the psych mech said he just wanted me to write to you like I would if we were talking. It's the slagging worst suggestion he's had yet. I meen really, last time we spoke you were like nine, your sire hates my sire, and I can't hardly carry on a conversation with myself anymore! Scrap, life's really messed up. Isn't it?_

 _I'm running out of things to say._

 _Dustwing (he's the psych me I keep having to slagging go to) says this message probably won't ever reach you as it is._

 _I don't even fragging care._

 _That's not true. I do. I fracking hope with message never slagging finds it's condemned way into your servos. You're one of those fragging great mechs who doesn't need to know about any of this frell._

 _One of my "parents" is calling-don't even fragging care which one-but I'd better go see what they want._

 _From: Red Alert_

 _Sent: 57986 CGC_

 _~ ~ Delivered by way of Dustwing_

The first thing out of Prowl's mouth after he finished the letter was "Carrier, he sent this five years ago!"


	3. Chapter 3

Prowl's helm span as he drove through the busy street, back toward the Academy. More than half his life ago, he'd bid short farewell to his best friends (his not-quite-shy, 'I'll stand up for you', friend), planning to see him again in a few days, only to have the other walk out of his young life forever. Now, out of nowhere, this. And the white and black mech found himself worrying over someone he no longer knew. Because it was evident from the message that Red Alert had changed, more so than Prowl, over the years.

The traffic grew thicker as more and more femmes and mechs began heading toward home. Prowl slowed to let a sleek car slide off the main road. Two more cars zipped through in the gap before he could close it. He signaled and an exited the main road at the next left.

What was he worrying about? Prowl slid to a stop as a heavily laden transport moved across the road. He didn't know where Red Alert would be-the elder mech as now be too old to be a ward of the state-so it wasn't like he could send a message back the way he'd gotten his. He started driving. This was really something he should think about later, when he wasn't still reeling from the shock.

A screeching of breaks and squeal of tires caused Prowl to swerve from his lain and down a side street. As an enforcer (okay, he wasn't technically an enforcer yet, but what did a few more days matter.) and conscientious citizen, it was his duty to make sure that everyone was alright. He expected to come upon the scene of a minor crash of similar accident; he really needed to remember not to assume. The vehicle he'd let off the main road earlier now stood-in root mode of course-before a large green mech standing in front of a very heavy trailer. The much smaller mech glared up at the latter, arms akimbo.

"Hey!" He shouted. "What d' ya think ya're doing?! I almost 'it ya! This's ha street! Move yar cart out t'e way!" It was almost funny, seeing how agree the short mech was, while the other just had this most bland looking on his wide face.

No reaction.

"Wellah?! Why ya sti' standin' 'ere? Move!" He made a shewing motion with his hands.

Seeing that no one was really in any danger, Prowl just leaned against a light pull and watched.

"How are you to tell me what to do?" The large mech finally demanded.

"What d' ya meen?! I'm tryin' ta drive 'ere!" The small black and white mech certainly had an interesting accent. Prowl idly wondered what city-state it was from.

"Well you see," the broad mech took a step toward the angry little mech. "You're not from Iacon-not with you talking like that-so I don't feel too inclined to take an order from you." The green mech hunched his shoulders, crossed his arms, and stared smugly down at the fuming outsider.

"Why ya!" The small visored mech was too angry to form a coherent retort.

Crouching slightly, the big Iaconian shoved his pointer finger into the other's chest, right between his headlights. "So why don't you just go back to whichever trashy city you got that dumb accent from. We don't need mechs like you around here." With that, he shoved the outsider. It probably hadn't been that hard for a mech his size, but the green mech was three halves the height of the other.

When the visored mech fell flat on his aft, Prowl decided to step in.

"Is there a problem here mechs?" He asked, mainly just to make his presence known. Both mechs twisted to look at him, the smaller still on the ground. The first thing the green's optics locked on was badge painted over Prowl's left shoulder. It was really the enforcer cadet badge, but the two were so similar that many couldn't tell them apart. If it was assumed he was an enforcer, well, he didn't really feel like correcting anything.

"No officer." the thick mech huffed. "Just a misunderstanding, everything's better now." He turned away, barely squeezing between the wall and his trailer, transformer, and left, trailer in tow.

"Are you alright?" Prowl inquired, sensory wings notched down in disapproval at now gone mech, as he offered a servo to the still seated outsider. He seemed startled by the offered help, but didn't turn it away.

"Yeah. Yeah, 'm fine." He quickly brushed off the larger bits of grit that had stuck to him. He kept his helm down, not quite willing to meet the other's optics. "Ya, uh, ya gonna detain me?"

Prowl's brows and wings shot up. "Why would I do that? You didn't break the law." He also didn't have the authority too.

The outsider finally looked up. "Ya serious? Ya aren't gonna take me in fa' 'disperbin' t'e peace' or some'in?" He seemed genuinely bewildered.

"No."

"Wow," a smile lit his face. "I ain't meet 'n off'cer like ya here-"

Prowl raised a servo, forestalling the other. "Oh no, I'm not an enforcer. I'm Cadet Prowl, for the next few days anyway."

The visored mech looked thunderstruck. "Ya are some'in' else, Cadet Prowlah." He reached out for Prowl's servo to shake. "I'm Jazz." He gave a firm shake, then released Prowl's servo

.

"Where are you heading?" Prowl asked. This Jazz seemed friendly enough, if a little hard to understand, perhaps he could accompany him to his destination, to forestall any other confrontations with only biased Iaconians. Because, as Prowl knew from personal experience, many of the state's inhabitance looked down on anyone who so much as appeared to be an outsider.

"I's act'ly just 'eadin' back ta t'e hotelah 've been stayin' at." Jazz pointed over his shoulder. "It's not t' fa' ifn ya want ta cum wi't meh."

"Sure." Prowl smiled back at the grinning mech, that was surprisingly easy. "I don't need to be back at the Academy for a few hours."

"It's coolah tha' ya're 'ecomin' an off'cer, Prowlah." Jazz chirpt as they began walking down the road, on the sidewalk of course.

"Yeah." Prowl wasn't really sure he'd use a word like cool to describe the months of humiliation and exhaustion he'd gone through, but his goal was within sight now. Maybe, after a few years, he'd be willing to use a similar word to describe the Academy. "So, what brings you to Iacon?"

"Is m' ak'ent tha' no'c'ble?" Jazz almost laughed at the confused and unsure expression that washed over Prowl's light face. "I'm jus' jokin' wi't ya Prowlah." He elbowed the other playfully. "I'm f'om Poly'ex, an' dis who'e speech imped'ment just makes i' worse. I'm 'ere for a vid sh't. Not rea'y a big part, but it pa's gu'd."

Prowl nodded, taking a minute to decipher what the other had said. "I hope the show goes well for you then." They'd reached Jazz's destination, a low profile hotel that cost little and gave less.

"'Ey!" The Polyhexian grabbing onto Prowl's shoulder before he could continue walking, being mindful of his sensitive door wings. "We sh'u'd talk ag'n soon. I want ta know when ya act'ly are 'n off'cer." He pulled what looked to be a business chip out from his subspace, inputted a few new lines of writing, then handed it over to the slightly flabbergasted Iaconian. "Ke'p me updat'd, 'kay?"

"S-sure." Prowl took the chip and Jazz walking through the sliding doors and into the hotel. Bringing the chip up to his optics, Prowl saw what was written across it.

JAZZ OF POLYHEX.

ACTOR AND STUNT DOUBLE.

A personal comm line followed, then, in what was evidently Jazz's own writing:

DON'T FORGET TO COMM ME PALL!

Pall. Prowl grinned as he sipped the chip away, it'd been a long time since he'd made a new friend. And to make one so quickly! The cadet transformed and drove back onto the main road through the area. He hadn't made a friend so quickly since… Well, since that day in the launch room when little youngling Prowl decided sit next the kid who'd gotten two of the school bullies to leave him alone.

Red Alert.

That's it. Prowl made up his mind then and there. He was going to try his hardest to get a message to his old friend. If Jazz could give him his personal comm number and call him a pall after knowing him for all of ten five minutes, then surely, surely he could send a simple letter to the mech that had been his best friend for years


	4. Chapter 4

With graduation in a few day, Prowl didn't have too much to do with his time. He'd commed Jazz once since meeting the Polyhexian a day ago, to give him his own comm number. After all, if he had Jazz's, Jazz should have his. They'd even agreed to meet up at a cheap energon bar the day before Prowl graduated. Jazz seemed very excited about it and Prowl couldn't help but wonder how much the outsider really got to socialize with others during his stay in Iacon.

Most of all, he'd searched for a way to send a message to Red Alert. Doors seemed to be slammed in his face at every turn. At least he was actually talking with the psychiatrist Dustwing now.

"Well, it has to do with confidentiality." The skinny, grey mech Dustwing-Prowl could tell instantly he wasn't a flier-leaned against his desk. Gesticulating with his left servo while his right supported his left elbow. "I can't legally release any information on a patient unless you have a subpoena."

Prowl sighed. "If you could even just tell me who was fostering him when you counseled him."

"I'm sorry, but I can't." It'd been a longshot anyway. "Unless you have something else you wish to discuss I need to get back to work. Reports don't file themselves!" The mech said cheerily.

"Good day then." He walked out of the office, the psychiatrist's off-tune whistling following him into the waiting room. He hadn't been expecting much really. If his current luck kept up, he'd be glad to just get a message sent to Red Alert before he offlined from age. Oh well. Life just goes on.

His internal clock chimed, warning the cadet that he'd better hurry back to the barracks before curfew. It would be a shame if his first time being late was only a few days before graduation.

"'Ey, 'ey! M' main mec'!" Jazz exclaimed as Prowl seated himself across the little table from the actor. "H'w ya be'n d'ing? Ex'i'ed fur gra'uat'on?"

It took a moment for Prowl to figure out what the smaller mech said. "Yeah. Yeah, of course I am. How's that acting job been going for you?"

"O,' it's a' be'n gr'at!" He leaned back, arms extending. "Alm'st done tho,' then Ih gotta g' ba'k to Poly'ex. 'Ve only g't a wo'k per'it af'er all." He sighed. "But 'ey! Ih got ya some en'rgon!" He pushed a steaming cube across the table into Prowl's surprised servos.

"Jazz you didn't have too. Really, I can pay for my own energon."

"Ah, b't I wa'ted too!" Jazz determinedly wrapped his companion's servos around the cube. "'Sides, ya ca' ju't make 't up by pa'in' for d'inks af'er gra'uat'on." Half of his visor dimmed in a pseudo wink.

Prowl raised his fuel. "I'm good with that."

The pair spent the rest of the time at the cafe just chatting about life.

The next morning, Prowl woke to find a text message asking for attention on his communication line. Opening it, the words popped up, obscuring his line of vision a little.

 _Hey Prowl, it's me, Jazz._

 _Look, I know I told you that I'd be able to come to your graduation-at least come after the ceremony-but the vid's director decided she wanted to get the filming done early. She had the other actor and me work most of the night. Once the last scene was shot our contracts all expired and she told us to beat it._

 _I'm really sorry, but since I'm not actually employed anymore my visa's all but void. I really need to head back to Polyhex before any more enforcers ask what I'm doing here and I get myself locked up._

 _Sorry._

 _I'll stay in touch though. Maybe I can get a visiting visa sometime-I don't know-or you could get one-but don't worry 'bout that 'cause I know you'll be busy with being an officer and all._

 _Deepest regrets_

 _Jazz._

"Cadet Prowl, my office. Now." The summoned mech quickly marched into Highbrow's office. The graduation ceremony started in only a few breems and an unexpected call wasn't helping Prowl's nerves.

"You summoned me Sergeant Highbrow."

"Yes. Sit down." The older mech, who'd dragged Prowl-and the four other mechs in his unit who made it to the end of training-through the worst five months of his life, pointed to a stool set before his desk. The stool was actually kind of considerate given that Prowl's wings made sitting in most of the chairs at the academy uncomfortable.

"Thank you sir." He sat, wings held stiffly to attention.

"Now Prowl." Highbrow leaned forward. "I've noticed that despite your heritage," Prowl twitched, "and the amount of stress the unit has put on you because of it, you have performed admirably. I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but as a trainer I have a certain amount of sway over where cadets go after graduating." The sergeant stood from his spot, walking around until he was almost directly in front of Prowl. "Of course, you'll still be receiving an official letter, but that's just for protocol's sake. Your position is already assured." He reached out to shake Prowl's servo.

"I'm sorry sir." Prowl paused not sure how to not sound rude. "But I don't understand what you're saying." He hoped the older mech got to the point soon, the ceremony would start in only two breems.

"Right." Highbrow straightened his shoulders. "Cadet Prowl. The Central Iaconian Enforcer Complex is expecting you to report to them in two weeks' time. Now," and the mech who'd worn a frown or scowl every time Prowl had seen him, smiled, "you'd better hurry if you want to make it to graduation on time."

For a moment Prowl didn't moved, then he was out the door in a flash and dashing toward the assembly hall. How? The Central Iaconian Enforcer Complex wanted him? He hadn't even served as an enforcer yet and they wanted him to work at the headquarters? Prowl couldn't believe it.

As it turned out, the graduation ceremony ended only about half an hour before a recruiting assembly started-and in the same room. Thus, as soon as the last words were spoken, the twenty mechs and two femmes were hustled out of the space and told to be on their ways. They could head back to the barracks if they wished, where they could stay (read sleep only) until the official letters of assignment came. They were told this could take anywhere from three to ten days.

Prowl was on his way out when the receptionist stopped him.

"Oh! Hey Prowl! Could you come here for a mo?" The mech working the desk called, arms laden with a crate of files.

"What can I help you with Searchlight?" He asked.

"I just need to run these down to the records room and Greenlight stepped out for her break. Could you hold the desk down still I get back? If anyone comes for the recruiting thing just send them to the main hall. Please?" The mech looked as though he might keep talking if Prowl didn't agree.

To forestall the not-quite-really enforcer from going blue in the face from talking, Prowl spoke. "Sure thing." He didn't have anything better to do: Jazz left suddenly in the night, his carrier couldn't make the trip-she'd gotten terribly ill since he'd last visited her-and all his siblings had lives and jobs over their own.

"Thanks so much." Searchlight began the treacherous journey down, into the bowels of the academy with the crate of files that probably out massed him two to one.

Prowl slipped in behind the desk, wishing that at least one of the chairs didn't have a back. The counter was just a little too low for him to comfortably stand at. Oh well, Searchlight shouldn't take too long. Unless he tripped and the files went everywhere, then Prowl'd probably have to wait here as slightly OCD mech put them all back in numerical order _and_ _then_ filed them away. That's what happen last time anyway.

"Excuse me."

Prowl blinked. A silver and gold femme stood before him, a green mechling by her side.

"How may I help you?" He smiled.

"I'm Coldstar, I'm presenting at the meeting today." She held up her ID card. "My son," the green mechling looked up before returning his attention to the mechanical puzzle in his servos, "needs to wait out here where he won't distract anyone. Would you kindly just keep an optic on him?"

"Sure." Again, he had nothing to do after this, so even when Searchlight got back, he could just sit with kid till his carrier was done.

"Lovely." Coldstar turned to the green child. "Now Hound." She got his attention. "This mech's going to keep an optic on you. If you get into any trouble he'll tell me, so behave yourself."

"Yes Carrier." The mechling, Hound, mumbled.

"Good." Then the femme hurried off toward the assembly hall.

Hound found a seat and returned to his game.

After a while, long enough for Prowl to conclude that Searchlight had indeed dropped the crate, he spoke to the mechling. "You know," he called, "you can sit behind the desk if you want Hound. It's kinda like being an enforcer then."

"Really?" Hound perked up, blue optics flashing. "That's so cool." Within moments he was out of his seat, across the room, and climbing onto the swivel chair next to Prowl, his puzzle forgotten on the floor. "This is so awesome." Hound gasped, barely able to see over the top of the reception desk.

"Wait a sec." Hound said suspiciously after gazing with awe for a while. "Why aren't you sitting?" He looked up at Prowl.

"My wings," he flicked the sensory panels on his back, "make it a little difficult." Though it was technically rude to ask questions about a stranger's frame, Prowl didn't mind the query.

"I've never seen wings before." The green mechling reached out, running his fingers down the edge of a black and white appendage. Prowl's wing flicked away, unused to the touch. "Are you a seeker?" Hound asked, bringing his servo back to his lap.

"Oh no." Prowl turned to face the child better, which also happened to move his wings farther away from the little fingers. "I'm Praxian."

The mechling had a quizzical yet thoughtful look on his face, as though he were trying to remember something. Prowl hoped it wasn't something he'd learned in school. He'd gone through those lessons growing up too, where the teacher all but ranted about the 'evils' of Praxian society (and a few other cities).

"Oh hey!" Hound exclaimed, finally remembering. Prowl almost cringed, waiting for some form of bigotry to issue from the nice little mechling. "My brother talks about Praxians sometimes." Out of the crucible and into the furnace, no doubt.

"Your brother?"

"Yeah! He's not actually my brother, but he's still really cool." Hound nodded, bouncing in his seat. "He says that most of the stuff in the history books is just a bunch of biased garbage. He doesn't use that word, but carrier and sire say I'm not supposed to use the word he does." The last part was whispered conspiratorially.

Someone who didn't think terrible of Praxians, while not being one of them? Prowl was impressed. He didn't fault other mechs and femmes for disliking the society, it was a huge culture shock for most, but it was still disheartening to hear what they said.

"Your brother does sound cool." Prowl agreed.

"That's what I just said." Hound giggled. "But he is. He knows all kinds of stuff that my teachers at school don't. He can answer like all my questions. Well, he used to anyway, but he got a job and moved out. Sire was really proud about it. I don't know why, but I feel like he thought Lert wouldn't amount to very much."

Interesting, Lert wasn't actually Hound's brother, but it sounded like he used to life with the kid's family. "Well, It's nice to see that he was wrong, isn't it?"

"Sure." Hound was quiet for a while, busy arranging magnets on the counter. "But I see how sire could have thought that about him. Lert was really, really, really, really, weird when he started living with us. I don't mean like old space mouse femme weird. I mean actually weird." He looked up. "Are you okay with me tell you this stuff? Carry says not everyone likes to hear about it. Most everyone was what she actually said." He waited.

Prowl smiled. "You're good Hound. I'm totally fine with it." He reassured.

"Carrier said she found Lert at work. Which makes it sound like he's some kinda pet and isn't that an odd thought. Sire let me recharge with him and carrier for a while when Lert first came home, I guess because we only had the two recharge rooms and sire didn't like when Lert was around me. Odd, 'cause Lerts totally fine now and sire's like 'hey Star, when's Lert visiting again? I want him to watch the little green hellion so we can go on a _date_." Hound used air quotes around the last word. "I'm not kidding that's totally how sire does it." Hound laughed a little.

Prowl laughed too. He could recall a few times when his own sire—Primus bless him—had said word to the same effect to his carrier, though instead of air quotes he tended to just slap Rainbow on the aft as she passed.

"Oh hey!" Hound exclaimed, it seems to be his favorite expletive. "I forgot to ask you for your name officer." The mechling flush blue in embarrassment.

"Well that's okay, because I forgot to tell you." He stuck his servo out, shaking the smaller green one that grabbed his. "I am Prowl."

The child's optics lit up. "Really?! That's so funny. Lert says a Prowl was his best friend when he was little!"

Prowl froze, staring at the mechling, servos still clasped. Lert? Red Alert? Could it be that this little mechling really was talking about his long lost friend? Really how many mechs could there be in Iacon whose' names ended in -lert, actually knew about Praxian culture, and had a best friend called Prowl growing up?

"Is something wrong?" Hound asked, confused.

"What's Lert's full name?" Prowl was almost scared to know. He'd tried so hard to reach Red Alert, and then to think that if Searchlight hadn't called for him he'd never have met this mechling. Might still know nothing.

"Red Alert. Why?"

Prowl didn't know how to respond.


End file.
